Apple Pie
by Night N. Gail
Summary: Edward's whole body stiffened at the sound of her voice. After a brief pause he slowly turned his head, and the stunned look on his pale but dirty face told the whole story... (SPOILERS!)
1. Recipe for Disaster

**Foreword:**

**All right! My first anime fanfic! It's about time. XP This story is dedicated to my dear friend Griselda Banks, without whom I would never have forayed into the world of fanfiction. I know the idea is far from original, but what can I say? I was inspired. ^-^ Incidentally, this is the second fanfic I've written that is centered around a specific kind of pie. o_0 I wonder if that means something. XP Basically this is an epilogue of sorts for FMA that takes place just after Ed and Al return to Resembool near the end of the story. There may be a couple places where it doesn't quite line up with the canon. Some of these are deliberate, some are not, and some are due to slight differences between the manga and the Brotherhood anime. I think I'm more-or-less following the manga version, though. Enjoy! :D**

* * *

_Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart,_

— _1 Peter 1:22_

« ... »

The first day back home in Resembool after Father's defeat was a day of new beginnings. For Ed, the loss of his alchemy was as difficult to get used to as the loss of his limbs had been five years ago. And for Alphonse, the sudden change proved even more jarring. He hadn't been in a body of flesh and blood for such a long time, not to mention how weak his body was when he finally _did_ get it back. The poor kid could barely stand on his own legs, which meant that Edward Elric had traded his prestigious position as a State Alchemist to play the role of a crutch to his little brother.

He had never felt so honored.

The Rockbell home came into view from half a mile away, a lone sign of civilization framed by a picturesque view of the sunny countryside. Nothing but roads, trees, and rolling green meadows as far as the eye could see. Edward took in a deep breath of rich unspoiled air and whispered fondly under his breath, "We're home."

He heard a trip and a faint yelp and turned just in time to catch Alphonse before he fell on his face.

"Watch out!"

Al grasped his brother's right arm to steady himself, and Ed almost shuddered at his touch. If it felt this strange for him just to have the feeling back in one limb, he could only imagine how weird it was for Al, having sensation returned to his whole body. The surprised gasp he uttered as his fingernails dug into Ed's skin gave his brother some idea.

"You have to watch your step, Al," Ed muttered with concern. "Your feet are a lot smaller now than what you've gotten used to."

"Yeah," Al said, breathing a bit quick. "I know."

"Are you _sure_ you don't want me to carry you?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Al snapped. "I'm not an invalid, you know."

Ed almost wasn't even consciously aware of what he said next, but somehow he managed to turn the conversation into an argument that lasted until they were about to step on the veranda.

Den was sleeping by the front door like nothing had changed these chaotic few years, and when he heard the brothers' approach he perked his ears and lifted his head. He looked confused at the sight of Al, but once the boy smiled and greeted him in his soft, unchanged voice, Den immediately got up and rushed to meet him, barking with joy, tail wagging happily behind him. With all the noise he was making, it couldn't be long before...

Edward tried to ignore the pounding in his chest when she appeared in the doorway, her crystal blue eyes sparkling in dumbstruck awe. He did his best to smile despite the nerves pinching in his arm as he lifted it up high to wave. A grunt of pain caught in his throat, but it didn't get past Al.

"You shouldn't do that, Big Brother. Your arm is as weak as my whole body."

"It's all right," Ed muttered through grit teeth, grinning as he waved. "I want her to see it."

Winry's eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled into a truly pathetic expression. She barreled forward, arms extended to pummel the Elric brothers with the mother of all welcome-home hugs, and Ed felt a wave of warm accomplishment sweep over his soul as he braced for impact. He had been able to keep his promise, after all.

« « « « « ж » » » » »

Ed opened his eyes to a boring view of the ceiling in a dark room. After about two hours of lying in bed pretending to be asleep, he decided it was finally late enough. He turned over as slowly as he could and peered through the darkness at his brother's bed. Alphonse was sleeping soundly, mouth hanging open as his chest rose and fell with a soft, distinct rhythm. Ed couldn't describe how good it felt to see his little brother actually _breathing_ again.

With a determined smile he carefully got out of bed. It took some effort to tiptoe with an automail leg. He never had to do it before because he'd never wanted to keep anything from his brother, and during the time he'd had his metal limbs Al had never slept anyway. Somehow, though, he managed his way to the door and slipped out into the hall. Then he stopped and listened. When all was quiet after a few moments he let loose a muted sigh of relief and headed downstairs toward the kitchen.

There was just one more thing he had to do before he would feel like he had completely redeemed himself.

« ... »

Ed searched a few cabinets and shelves for a cookbook before he noticed a small box on the countertop beside the stove marked 'recipes.' He opened it and leafed through the paper slips inside until he found the one he was looking for. With a smile he plucked the recipe from the box and started to read.

"Okay, let's see here... 'Seven handfuls of flour, two or three heaping spoonfuls of butter, a pinch of salt..."

He made a face and stared for a long time at the so-called recipe, trying to make sense of it, then whispered at the top of his lungs, "What _is_ this?"

The refrigerator flew open with a flurry of teen impatience, and out flew the butter and milk into the sloppy stranglehold of Ed's right arm. He kicked the door shut behind him and made a beeline for the counter, where he dumped his cargo before checking the recipe and storming over to the cupboards. He flung one open, and to his horror, inside was a battlefield of boxes and containers in every shape, full of liquids and powders in every color—not a single one of them labeled.

"What the—?"

He couldn't tell whether the blood was draining from his face or rushing to his head.

He blasted open cupboard after cupboard, each time meeting with the same infuriating sight. His eye twitched as he just stared in utter disbelief. "She did this on purpose," he muttered under his breath. "That bitter old hag... She's trying to torment me."

After a long, infuriating period of time, an uncertain assortment of ingredients finally came together on the counter beside a large bowl. Ed heaved a deep sigh, releasing his frustration and clearing his mind as he prepared for the task before him.

He opened up the flour and awkwardly reached inside, pulling out a handful and dropping it into the bowl. He repeated this six more times, feeling more ridiculous with each number he counted off.

When that was done he looked back at the recipe. Next was the butter—two or three heaping spoonfuls of it. With a roll of his eyes he reached over and pulled open the silverware drawer. He was greeted by the sight of two or three different sizes of spoons.

"Of course..." he grumbled under his breath. After standing there for a few seconds he huffed impatiently, grabbed a middling-sized spoon, scooped it full of butter, and upturned it over the bowl. The butter clung to the spoon like it was afraid of the flour. Ed frowned and tapped the spoon on the bowl's edge. Nothing doing. Still repressing the urge to scream, Ed reached into the silverware drawer, grabbed another spoon, and angrily scraped out the inside of its smaller cousin. At last the stubborn yellow blob dropped into the bowl.

The poor spoon bent double in Ed's furious grip, then fell to the ground. A stream of milk splashed right over the butter, and the surviving spoon was immediately put to work stirring up the contents of the bowl.

He tossed in some salt, sugar, and cinnamon, then dumped the odd ball of dough out on to the counter. Four drawers later Ed found the rolling pin and came after the dough with a vengeance, but it wasn't going down without a fight. It stuck to the rolling pin like chimera drool, stretching around it as it rolled upward. Ed frowned and tried rolling it the other way to shake it loose, but the same thing happened, and before he knew it the rolling pin had been all but devoured by his block of clay-like dough.

Edward grit his teeth together till it hurt and squeezed his fists till his knuckles turned white. He'd finally reached his boiling point, and it was a miracle he'd lasted this long. He grabbed the knife on the counter as well as an apple, smashed the apple into the dough blob, and stabbed through the whole mess.

For a few seconds Edward just stood there huffing with his fist gripped tightly around the knife handle. Finally he stepped aside and let out a long defeated breath.

"I don't believe this," he muttered to himself. "What _else_ can go wrong?"

Just then he leaned against the counter and knocked the pie plate to the floor, where it shattered into a hundred pieces.


	2. Easy as Pie

Winry awoke with a start. Was that a crash she'd heard? She flung off the covers and reached over to grab the wrench sitting on her nightstand. Holding the tool out like it was a sword, she carefully slipped across her room and poked her head out into the dark hallway, looking both ways.

She held a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. The door to the boys' room was wide open. She rushed over to the doorway and looked inside, wrench at the ready, but to her surprise nothing looked out of the ordinary. There wasn't a sinister figure silhouetted in moonlight by the window, and the boys were sleeping peacefully in bed... wait. She squinted to take a closer look. Al was asleep in his bed, but _Ed's_ bed was empty.

She almost dropped her weapon. "Ed... Where...?"

Suddenly she remembered the crash that she'd heard. It had definitely come from downstairs. Without a second thought she turned tail and ran, making almost no noise as she flew from the room and down the hall. She slid down the stair-rail for the first time since her childhood and landed in a sprint that found her in the kitchen, where she halted dead in her tracks at a most unexpected sight.

There, crouched awkwardly on the floor between the sink and the oven, was Ed. He was facing away from her, covered in flour, muttering frustration in a whispered voice as he picked up pieces of glass from the floor.

"Umm..." she whispered to get his attention.

Edward's whole body stiffened at the sound of her voice. After a brief pause he slowly turned his head, and the stunned look on his pale dirty face told the whole story.

"Winry..." he muttered, looking at her as though she were a ghost. His eyes were gaping almost as wide as his mouth.

Winry had to bite her lip to keep from laughing, and pointed at him as she plainly stated, "Ed, you have egg on your face."

"Huh?" Ed wiped his face with the back of his arm, muttering under his breath, "But I didn't use any—oh."

He donned a pitiful frown as he recognized the joke, and jumped straight onto the defensive. "What the heck are you doing down here at this hour?"

Winry heaved an exasperated sigh and set down her wrench on the countertop to her right.

"I came downstairs to investigate a loud noise," she explained, walking over to Ed. She crossed her arms and looked down on him with a sinister glare. "What are _you_ doing down here at this hour?"

Ed shrank away from her until his back met with the wall. "Well," he muttered sheepishly, "it's kind of hard to explain..."

Winry pouted and turned her back to Ed, then plopped herself down beside him, her back against the same wall. She caught his gaze with an annoyed, determined frown, and simply said, "How hard could it be?"

Ed gave her a funny look, then glanced away and reluctantly proceeded to spill his guts.

"A while ago, I asked Al what he wanted to do when he got his body back." He paused, smiled fondly, and chuckled. "He said he wanted to eat apple pie."

Winry blinked in surprise. "So _that's_ it," she observed with a chuckle of her own. "You're trying to make an apple pie for Al."

"It'd be the easiest thing in the world if I still had my alchemy!" Ed snapped. Winry was surprised at the passion in his tone. He softened, his voice quivering with disappointment. "But... Sure enough, I'm useless without it."

"Don't say that!"

"It's true, isn't it? What was I ever good for besides alchemy."

In a weak attempt to lighten the mood, Winry muttered, "You were always good for a laugh."

The resulting expression on Ed's face was some bizarre fusion of anger and despair. _Way to prove my point, weirdo,_ she thought, once again biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"See what I mean?" Ed murmured in that honest, forlorn tone he only used when he was wallowing in the depths of despair. "Al deserves a better brother than me. After all I put him through, I can't even make him a lousy pie."

"Ed, don't give up. You can still make it. I'll help you."

"No. It's meaningless if I don't do it myself."

Winry stared at him for a moment, then got up and quietly walked across the room. She grabbed the wrench she'd left on the counter and doubled back with a grip on that thing like nobody's business.

Ed's eyes grew to about twice their normal size. "H-Hold it, Winry! What are you gonna do with that?" he exclaimed, spreading out both his hands and waving frantically.

"What do you think?" she grumbled with a frown, still advancing toward him.

"Wait, please!" he begged, backing farther along the wall. "At least do it later. I don't want Al to wake up!"

Winry stopped in her tracks, studying the earnest look on his dumb blushing face. That was her Ed, all right. More afraid of being embarrassed than being hit with a wrench. She heaved a sigh and let her weapon slip to the ground.

"Fine," she muttered. "I'll go easy on you." She closed the remaining distance between them and crouched down in front of Ed, then smacked him hard on the forehead with her palm.

"Is there no limit to your stupidity?" she whispered as loudly as she could. "'It's meaningless if I don't do it myself.' What kind of nonsense is that?"

"Winry," Ed interjected with one hand pressed to his sore forehead.

She gave him no chance to argue. "What is it you're trying to achieve here? Do something nice for Al, or prove a point?"

Ed looked at the floor and defensively muttered, "Both."

"You can't have both," Winry snapped. "Pick one!"

Ed clammed up, biting his lip and averting his eyes. "I just..." He trailed off, and finally finished after a sorrowful sigh, "I just want him to know that I love him."

"He already knows that, stupid," Winry stated, smacking him again.

Ed grunted and frowned up at her, angrily grumbling, "Hey, Winry!"

"Ed," she cut him off, her voice suddenly soft. Her face crumbled into a sad, pleading expression, and she took her turn staring at the floor. "Why do you still think you have to bear everything alone? Why won't you let anyone help you? I know you don't want to hurt the people you care about." She looked up to meet his eyes and solemnly added, "but... for me, at least... it hurts more to just watch you struggling and not be able to help."

For a long moment Ed just stared at her, dumbfounded. At long last he moved his hand from his forehead and hesitantly murmured, "W-Winry..."

The girl reached up to wipe her eyes with her forearm, then looked up at Edward wearing the most cheerful smile she could muster.

"So," she said, both gentle and forceful, "we'll do it together. You do it for Al, and I'll do it for you."

Again Ed just sat there for a long moment, staring at her in awe. Finally he smiled back, the spark of drive returning to his face, and firmly muttered, "All right."

Winry beamed with pride and stood to her feet, extending her left arm down to the boy she loved. He reached up to take her hand, and as she pulled him to his feet, she realized that this was the first time she'd touched his right hand since it had been flesh again. It was so warm.

"I wonder..." she murmured somberly, staring down at their grasped hands. "Now that you have your arm back, I wonder if you won't need me anymore."

"Huh?" Ed muttered in surprise. He followed her gaze down to his hand in hers, then turned pink and promptly yanked it away, sheepishly mumbling, "O-Of course I'll need you! I still have an automail leg, after all."

Winry closed her eyes as she let her hand ease back to her side, then looked back up at Ed with a thankful smile.

"That's true," she said in a small voice. She crossed her arms and turned her back to Ed as she condescendingly muttered, "So I guess now you'll just have to start breaking _that_ all the time."

She heard a frustrated grunt behind her and grinned in mischievous satisfaction. Now for the finishing move. She spun around and gave Ed a patronizing pat on the head.

"Well, we have to clean up this mess before we can get started, don't we, little guy?"

Predictably, off went the bomb. "DON'T CALL ME—!"

"SHHH!" Winry hushed with a teasing finger raised to her lips. "You'll wake Al."

She relished the horrified look that replaced his furious glare as he clapped both hands over his mouth. Then she winked in victory and skipped off to the broom closet. She could almost feel the steam radiating off Ed as he grudgingly followed her.

« « « « « ж » » » » »

Winry stared over at the cutting board, her mouth hanging open at the sight of a spongy blob with an apple stabbed through it, a knife still protruding from the center. She walked over to it with a flabbergasted look on her face. "Ed, what is this?"

"Uh..." Edward muttered sheepishly. "That's my... misplaced aggression."

"What did you _put_ in it?"

"Just what the recipe called for... butter, milk, flour, sugar, and cinnamon."

"You put sugar and cinnamon in the _crust_?"

"Yeah, why?"

"The sugar and cinnamon are for the _apples_, Ed!"

"Huh? They are?"

While Ed was still processing that nugget, Winry glanced over at the jar of cinnamon and eyed it suspiciously. She picked it up and took a whiff of the contents, then frowned up at Edward once more, saying, "And this isn't cinnamon, it's nutmeg."

"Nut...meg?" Ed muttered stupidly.

Winry turned away with a sigh and murmured in an annoyed voice, "Honestly, how can you be so hopeless?"

"The containers weren't labeled," Ed retorted. "How can you and Granny find anything in here?"

"Because we don't need a label to tell the difference between cinnamon and nutmeg! I thought alchemists were supposed to be really knowledgeable about these things."

Ed flushed with anger and defensively blasted, "None of my transmutations _EVER_ involved nutmeg!"

"Keep your voice down," Winry ordered. "You'll wake Al."

Poor Ed crystallized before her eyes into a twitching, blithering statue. Ignoring him completely, Winry walked across the kitchen to grab an apron hanging on the wall, which she slipped over her head and proceeded to tie behind her back.

"Well, we might as well get started. Was there anything else you had a problem with?"

Ed thought for a moment, then said, "Well... the recipe was hard to understand."

"What recipe?"

Ed handed her the paper. Not five seconds after she looked at it she started giggling, and covered her mouth in an effort to contain her amusement.

"What's so funny?" Ed demanded.

"Sorry, sorry," Winry mumbled through her laughter. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself, then looked at Ed and calmly explained, "This isn't a real recipe. It's a memento."

"A memento?"

Winry looked fondly down at the piece of paper cradled lovingly in her hands, a warm fondness lacing her voice as she reminisced. "When I asked Miss Gracia for her apple pie recipe she told me, 'I don't use recipes. I bake from the heart.' But I begged her to try and write it down for me so I could make it myself, and finally she caved and said she would."

She held up the recipe for Ed to see, pinched between her thumb and two fingers, and shook it lightly back and forth. "This is what she gave me."

Ed looked confused, and Winry smilingly said, "That was my reaction too. I never would have thought her the joking type. But giving me this recipe was her way of telling me that you can't learn to make something meaningful by following a recipe. You have to be taught."

She reached over to pick up the recipe box and carefully tucked her memento back into its place, then looked up at Edward, wistfully saying, "She taught me... so now I'll teach you."

She turned to the big bowl and rolled up her sleeves. "Would you get out the pastry cutter, please?"

"Right."

Ed turned to the line of open drawers, then froze, then at long last muttered, "Um... What's a pastry cutter?"

Winry smiled in place of a laugh and went over to Ed, reached into the drawer in front of him, and pulled out a gadget that looked like a metal headband with a handle and several slots on the outside curve."

Ed stared at it in surprise. "That's a cooking utensil?"

"Of course."

"It looks like a weapon."

Winry giggled and returned to the bowl, saying, "Well, it _is_ designed for cutting."

Edward joined her by the bowl and watched her measure out the flour, salt, and butter, which she then let him add to the mix. Then she gripped the pastry cutter in her left hand and instructed him to watch as she demonstrated how to use it. Grasping the edge of the bowl firmly in her left hand, she drove the gadget straight down into the center, and the butter squished out into thin strips between its slots. She repeated this procedure a few times, adjusting the position of the bowl and cutter as she went.

"Keep this up for a few minutes, and the butter will incorporate throughout the flour. Then we add the milk a little at a time and mold it into dough."

"I see," Ed muttered, sounding unduly impressed. "So _that's_ how you do it."

Without warning she lifted the pastry cutter out of the bowl and handed it to her pupil, cheerfully stating, "Your turn."

Ed's eyes widened a bit, but he put on a brave face and took the strange thing from her, saying, "Right."

He tried his best to copy her movements, but the oddly shaped gizmo was harder to control than it looked. His first two cuts were sloppy at best, and on his third he slipped and flung a cloud of flour out of the bowl. Winry turned aside and sneezed while Ed apologized, then laughed while he complained that it wasn't funny. He tried again with nearly the same result, and Winry rolled her eyes while lifting up a silent prayer for patience.

"Oh, for crying out loud! Like this." She wrapped her arms around Ed and grabbed his hands on either side, performing the motions for him as she explained for what she assured him would be the last time. When she was finished she looked up at him with a fierce expression and snapped, "Got it?"

"Y-Yeah..." he muttered, avoiding eye contact. She'd never seen him so stiff... or so red.

Winry released him with a soft, "Hmph," then headed across the kitchen as she instructed, "Just keep that up while I get the milk." She took hold of the glass bottle, but stood there for a moment before she picked it up.

"Don't worry, she whispered with a smile, her heart fluttering in her chest, "You're doing just fine."

"What was that?" Ed muttered from across the room.

"Nothing, nothing," Winry replied, abandoning the affection in her tone as she returned to him with the milk. Maybe she'd try to make him drink some.


	3. Apples to Apples

Alphonse didn't think he'd ever get over this 'waking up' thing. Ever since that first morning after his brother had won him back from the gateway, the whole awakening experience had been such a tremendous joy that he looked forward to going to sleep at night.

It was always a little scary at first. He'd see that blurry morning image as he opened his eyes, and for a split second his heart was seized with terror at the thought that maybe it was all a dream. Maybe he just had another lapse and imagined he'd gotten his body back, and he'd look around to see his brother and friends standing worriedly around the disassembled suit of empty armor that was Alphonse Elric.

But the moment consciousness fully took hold and sensations began flooding to his brain, that horrifying notion melted away in such a warm and profound euphoria that it was like the past five years had never happened.

First he took in a deep, greedy breath through his nose to smell the morning air, then another through the mouth to taste it—and yes, he felt as though he actually could _taste_ it. Next he began to shift and stretch his limbs, just to feel the soft touch of cotton against his skin and the wonderful soreness in his muscles. He rolled over to press his face against the pillow and squirmed in delight at the tickle on his cheeks. From there the tickling worked its way from his face down to his stomach, and of all the sensations he'd reveled in so far, nothing compared to the gleeful buzzing in his belly when he started to chuckle. He pressed a hand to his chest to feel his racing heart, the warmth overtook him, and his chuckle transformed into a hearty laugh. He laughed so hard and so long that he started to cry, but he made no effort to wipe the tears that trailed down his face. He cherished every aspect of every sensation he could claim as his own. Each one was a blessing for which he was eternally grateful.

At last his nirvana simmered down and he remembered the person to whom he was so grateful. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and happily greeted, "Good morning, Big Brother."

He half-expected to hear a snide remark about the goofy little routine he'd just danced through, and he was ready to apologize and laugh it off, but no response came.

"Big Brother?"

He looked over at his brother's bed and it was empty. Empty and unmade, like he left it every morning. With a smile and a roll of his eyes, Al pulled himself over the right side of the bed and kicked on his slippers.

Once he set foot outside his room, he was almost knocked off his feet by the smell. All of a sudden he was back in his childhood, an eager little boy bouncing in his seat while his mother meticulously went about her baking. The smell was all around him, infusing the atmosphere with a cozy warmth that wrapped around him like a blanket.

Apple pie.

The heart he still wasn't used to having did a somersault inside his chest, and it took all his will power to keep from running down the stairs. He made each step carefully, one at a time, and clung to the rail lest he trip and tumble down. He had to remember that his skull was no longer made of solid metal.

Just before he reached the bottom of the staircase, he heard voices coming from the kitchen. First Winry's voice, sternly warning, "Be careful, Ed! Its really hot."

"I _know_ its hot," his brother replied. "Its been in the oven for almost an hour."

Al supported himself against the wall and eased around a corner. The image that greeted him as it slid into view was like a scene from his dearest fantasies. Big Brother and Winry were standing together in the center of a messy kitchen, hair drawn back in matching golden ponytails, huddled around the open oven. The crust-covered fruit of their labor let off a trail of aromatic steam as it slid out of the oven in Brother's hands. He looked down at the pie and smiled, then looked up at Winry, who smiled back. They both looked so happy.

Alphonse almost considered sneaking back up to his room, loath to intrude on such a beautiful moment, but it was already too late. Brother spotted him.

"Al! You're up early," he greeted with a broad smile.

"S-Sorry..."

"No, that's good! Now I don't have to go up there myself and drag you down."

"Why can't you even be sweet without being rude?" Winry rebuked, following behind as he walked over to the table and set the pie down. He traded his potholders for the knife Winry handed him and looked over at Alphonse as he motioned to make the first cut.

"Hungry?" he asked.

Al felt tears pooling in his eyes and his face melting into what must have been quite the silly grin, judging by the way Big Brother chuckled just before Winry elbowed him right in his new arm.

Al pulled up a chair and sat down at the table. His eyes doubled in size at the sight of the plate that slid in front of him, loaded up with the biggest slice of hot apple pie he'd ever seen.

He looked up at his brother, who smiled and handed him a fork. He took it slowly, making an effort to touch his brother's hand as he did so. His _right_ hand. A living symbol of what the two of them meant to each other.

Alphonse returned the smile, then clapped his hands over his fork and said, "Here goes."

Anticipation charged through his body as he spooned up the first morsel of his long-craved dessert and blew on it gently. All he needed was to burn his tongue on his first taste of apple pie in over five years. He opened his mouth wide, took that first bite and then... a feeling came over him that words couldn't even describe.

Was it weightlessness? Freedom? Relief? Disbelief?

The warmth, the sweetness, the sharp contrasts in flavor. It was like tasting love.

Before he even finished chewing, tears started rolling down his cheeks.

"Al, are you okay?" his brother asked.

Al shook his head and did his best to smile in leu of a response. His mouth was still full, and he was at a loss for words besides. Finally he swallowed, then looked up with a sparkle in his teary eyes and said, "It's amazing. Thank you, Winry."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Ed shouted. "Why do you just assume _she_ made it?"

Al looked up at his indignant older sibling and muttered in surprise, "Huh? You mean _you_ made this?"

Big Brother clammed up a bit, backing off the defensive just enough to cross his arms and grudgingly admit, "Well... she _helped_."

Winry crossed her arms and shot him a frustrated glare, but it melted away within seconds to be replaced with a grin and a roll of her kind blue eyes.

For about the millionth time that morning Alphonse smiled, barely even aware that he was still crying. He looked down at his pie and took another bite, chewing it slowly as he rained tears all over the rest of the slice. A moment later he swallowed, and like a broken record softly muttered, "It really is amazing."

To the surprise of Brother and Winry, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. He was a little wobbly on his feet, but he managed to hobble over to his brother, and there he let himself collapse. His brother caught him by the waist as Al threw his arms around his neck and leaned against his chest. Alphonse could hear a racing heartbeat through a flour-dusted shirt that would soon be soaked with tears.

"Thank you... Big Brother," he whispered fondly.

His brother said nothing at first, but after a moment he squeezed Al a bit tighter. He didn't completely succeed in masking the emotion in his voice when he earnestly replied, "It was the least I could do."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**-This story was the result of a long-dormant inspiration finally coming to fruition. I always loved the part where Al tells Ed he wants to eat apple pie when he he gets his body back, and I immediately thought it would be a good base for a sweet brotherly love fanfic, but I never had any ideas for what I could do with it... until I finally got to the end, and Ed's sacrifice of his alchemy gave me just the angle I needed. ^-^**

**- The toughest part about writing this was that I knew I'd have to describe the actual process of making an apple pie and, well... Let's just say next to _my_ cooking skills, Ed looks like a culinary prodigy. DX Thankfully the answer wasn't far. I asked my mom to make a pie crust with me, and then I pretty much just wrote down that experience, substituting my mom for Winry and myself for Ed. ^^'**

**-I'll admit, I struggled a bit over whether it was OOC to portray Ed as a kitchen dunce. As Winry so astutely observed, alchemists are supposed to be knowledgeable about that sort of thing. But I decided to bank on the idea that there's a difference between head knowledge and heart knowledge. Cooking is more art than science, and since Ed is so logically minded, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to imagine him as being a little out of his depth when it comes down to the artistic aspect of baking. Plus, I tried to encourage suspension of disbelief by having lots of things go wrong that were completely beyond Ed's control.**


End file.
